busy to make the trip to “frontier land”, or number two…you were just as scared to get together as I was.
That if we applied the right pressure to this gas pedal…we’d be going mach five inside thirty seconds…
And then what ?
Deep breath in. Equal effort on the exhale. Pick. Words. Carefully . “Probably the same way you got off making yours.”
Her lips pursed. “Except that mine was right.” She jutted her chin. “ You left, Michael. I don’t give a damn that you were only sixty miles away. You told me you’d be gone for a few weeks—not six months .” She pushed out another breath. Not a note of surface mirth this time. The dark green sheen in her eyes confirmed it—despite how flippant she tried to be with her next rasp. “Did you…meet someone…up there?”
“What?” I stopped to unglue my eyebrows from their crash landings over my eyes. “Holy fuck. No .”
Was I dreaming this? Was this woman, the hottest reboot of Aphrodite that ever lived, actually standing here with pooled eyes and shaking breaths because of imagining me with “someone” up on the mountain? I almost laughed. Christ, if she knew. Five days out of each week I’d been in Julian, the only females I’d seen were Mom, the knitting club ladies, and a camel named Bertha.
I went ahead and laughed. Not loud, not hard, but enough to land my foot into the ca-ca mound again. Dammit. Did Bertha decide to send some of her more fragrant “byproducts” down the hill with me?
“Okay, then.” Margaux tossed her head up, even turning the pissed filly thing into something entirely new and sexy. “Glad to know I could amuse you tonight, Mr. Pearson.”
Yep. Bertha had clung to the soles somehow. And wasn’t about to be ignored.
Neither was her friend, the white elephant now taking a huge squat—and defining every damn thing I said and did. “Fuck,” I growled. “That didn’t come out right.”
“You think?”
“Margaux. Shit . Work with me here.”
“I work with people who work with me , Pearson.” No more tears now, either, hardening her eyes to emerald crystals. “And right now, I don’t feel ‘worked with’. I only feel…worked.”
My teeth tangoed again. My lungs lurched, pulling in heavy air. Her accusation screamed for a fire and brimstone comeback—but would that budge the elephant? And if it did, was I prepared? The elephant made it convenient to hide a lot. Like my truth.
I stayed on the mountain because I was trying to get over you , princess.
Amazing, antagonizing, gorgeous, gutsy, smart-assed, sexy…you.
And I kept on trying—and trying. And failing. So I just stayed longer. Time. Distance. I prayed they’d be my keys out of the straitjacket of you—but they only locked me in tighter. Thinking of you. Craving you. Touching myself because of those cravings…
And the more time I spent inside that prison…the more I liked it.
And after those words were out? Then what?
I’d imagined how the moment would play out, more than just a few times. Run all the possible scenarios of what she’d look like, what she’d say, what she’d do. Odds were on it ending pretty damn great, at least for a few hours. The sexual spark between us had never been an issue or a secret. From the moment I’d first kissed her—and fuck, I’d never forget it—in front of the lions at the San Diego Zoo, we’d known about the combustion of our mouths and the chemistry of our bodies. We’d been holding ice cream bars. By the time we finished that kiss, we were both covered in smeared lipstick and melted ice cream.
So yeah, I’d likely get lucky—if I kept the confession restrained. If all I told her about were the hot fantasies and the trips to the orchard to whack off because of them. If I could hold back on all the other parts, like how I missed the room lighting up from her smile, or my chest bursting from her laugh, or my face splitting when that laugh turned into snorts. How I wanted her to recite this
That if we applied the right pressure to this gas pedal…we’d be going mach five inside thirty seconds…
And then what ?
Deep breath in. Equal effort on the exhale. Pick. Words. Carefully . “Probably the same way you got off making yours.”
Her lips pursed. “Except that mine was right.” She jutted her chin. “ You left, Michael. I don’t give a damn that you were only sixty miles away. You told me you’d be gone for a few weeks—not six months .” She pushed out another breath. Not a note of surface mirth this time. The dark green sheen in her eyes confirmed it—despite how flippant she tried to be with her next rasp. “Did you…meet someone…up there?”
“What?” I stopped to unglue my eyebrows from their crash landings over my eyes. “Holy fuck. No .”
Was I dreaming this? Was this woman, the hottest reboot of Aphrodite that ever lived, actually standing here with pooled eyes and shaking breaths because of imagining me with “someone” up on the mountain? I almost laughed. Christ, if she knew. Five days out of each week I’d been in Julian, the only females I’d seen were Mom, the knitting club ladies, and a camel named Bertha.
I went ahead and laughed. Not loud, not hard, but enough to land my foot into the ca-ca mound again. Dammit. Did Bertha decide to send some of her more fragrant “byproducts” down the hill with me?
“Okay, then.” Margaux tossed her head up, even turning the pissed filly thing into something entirely new and sexy. “Glad to know I could amuse you tonight, Mr. Pearson.”
Yep. Bertha had clung to the soles somehow. And wasn’t about to be ignored.
Neither was her friend, the white elephant now taking a huge squat—and defining every damn thing I said and did. “Fuck,” I growled. “That didn’t come out right.”
“You think?”
“Margaux. Shit . Work with me here.”
“I work with people who work with me , Pearson.” No more tears now, either, hardening her eyes to emerald crystals. “And right now, I don’t feel ‘worked with’. I only feel…worked.”
My teeth tangoed again. My lungs lurched, pulling in heavy air. Her accusation screamed for a fire and brimstone comeback—but would that budge the elephant? And if it did, was I prepared? The elephant made it convenient to hide a lot. Like my truth.
I stayed on the mountain because I was trying to get over you , princess.
Amazing, antagonizing, gorgeous, gutsy, smart-assed, sexy…you.
And I kept on trying—and trying. And failing. So I just stayed longer. Time. Distance. I prayed they’d be my keys out of the straitjacket of you—but they only locked me in tighter. Thinking of you. Craving you. Touching myself because of those cravings…
And the more time I spent inside that prison…the more I liked it.
And after those words were out? Then what?
I’d imagined how the moment would play out, more than just a few times. Run all the possible scenarios of what she’d look like, what she’d say, what she’d do. Odds were on it ending pretty damn great, at least for a few hours. The sexual spark between us had never been an issue or a secret. From the moment I’d first kissed her—and fuck, I’d never forget it—in front of the lions at the San Diego Zoo, we’d known about the combustion of our mouths and the chemistry of our bodies. We’d been holding ice cream bars. By the time we finished that kiss, we were both covered in smeared lipstick and melted ice cream.
So yeah, I’d likely get lucky—if I kept the confession restrained. If all I told her about were the hot fantasies and the trips to the orchard to whack off because of them. If I could hold back on all the other parts, like how I missed the room lighting up from her smile, or my chest bursting from her laugh, or my face splitting when that laugh turned into snorts. How I wanted her to recite this
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